Ballast
by Child of Loki
Summary: When the boys get into trouble, can Brody figure out what's happened before it's too late? (An excuse for Brody badassery)
1. 10:00am

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**NCIS: New Orleans **_**or its characters…**

**Author's note: Um… yeah. Probably shouldn't have rewatched like ALL of the episodes this past weekend. So horribly addicted to these characters. I think because their rapport seems so much more genuine than in some of the other NCIS series where they go for the cheap shot, not considering how that reflects on the relationship of the characters. You get the teasing in the NOLA team, but it's not as derogatory. At any rate, little idea for an action-adventure fic popped into my head.**

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**ballast: _n_. Something that gives stability.**

* * *

"Look what we got here."

Christopher LaSalle shined his light on the black waterproof case sitting in the few inches of water. He heard the slogging footfalls of his senior agent as the man came up behind him, shining his own light on the container. LaSalle crouched down, flipped the latches on the container and opened it, feeling sort of like John Travolta looking into the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Especially since the light reflected off its contents no doubt bathed his face in a golden glow.

"Bet that's about equivalent to half a dozen stolen Sumerian artifacts?" Agent Dwayne Pride asked.

"Shame those bastard looters melted down an invaluable piece of history for greed," LaSalle said.

"Never took you for an amateur archaeologist, Christopher."

"I'm a complex man, King."

Pride laughed, a full infectious sort of sound that put a grin on LaSalle's face, who was about to comment further about the complicated nature of his intellectual interests when a loud boom echoed through the dark compartment. He exchanged a concerned glance with his boss.

"I thought we were clear about them holdin' off on unloadin' until we were through with our search," Pride said, the grimace informing LaSalle precisely what the older man thought. _Not good._

"That was no cargo container bein' moved."

The two agents hastily made their way back to the ladder they'd had to climb down into the ballast hold, hefting the case of gold along. Looking up, they simultaneously swore aloud.

The loud clang had been the sound of the solid metal porthole slamming shut. LaSalle holstered his sidearm and began climbing up the metal rungs, until he was able to reach up and push against the heavy steel door.

"No dice," he called down to the man who was now apparently his cellmate. "We're locked in. Think I should try hammerin' down the door?"

"You can try, but seein' as the only ones out there are likely those who locked us in..."

LaSalle sighed.

"Damn. What are we gonna do?"

The more experienced agent's silence was less than reassuring. Things were looking grim, but they could be-_ oh shit._

"That's not what I think it is?"

"If you think it's the sound of water being pumped into the ballast tank," Pride said in a voice loud enough to cover the din. "Then I'll have to give you credit for maritime knowledge as well as an archaeological penchant."

"An' let me guess," Chris said. "We're in the ballast tank."

He hammered on the metal of the sealed bulkhead, calling out for anyone that could hear... just in case a Good Samaritan rather than a bad guy happened to be outside.

Far below, the water began to rise...

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**A/N: I obviously don't have intimate knowledge of the workings of cargo vessels, but I did attempt to do a little research, so hopefully this isn't going to be distractingly wrong as to ruin the purely fictional fun. **


	2. 11:00am

**Author's Note: Even though this isn't really a mystery, even the small little plot here required some research and thought (not in keeping with my winging it sort of writing style), hence the delay in updating. Got it sorted now, though, so hopefully there will be more frequent updates.**

* * *

Agent Meredith Brody entered the New Orleans' NCIS office, expecting friendly greetings from her coworkers. Or, at least a distracted 'welcome back' if they were busy.

She received neither.

The building seemed quite desolate. She'd talked to LaSalle yesterday, and he said things were pretty dead, but the agents surely wouldn't have both taken off? Someone had to be on call in case of emergency. Or had they figured that just coming back from her triannual evaluation in D.C. (her flagged status for past mistakes annoyingly meaning that her supervising agent's performance review wasn't enough to satisfy the bureaucracy), she wouldn't mind sitting around waiting for some excitement to befall their little office after the tedious week.

"Hello?" she tried. "Anybody home?"

No reply came, so she did a quick search of the building, pulling out her cell phone and calling the senior agent as she made her rounds. It went to voicemail.

"Hey, Pride. It's Brody. Just got back in, wondering where everyone's at. Give me a call when you can."

As LaSalle's phone rang on and on and on... Brody began to develop a very uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She paced about in front of her desk as the call finally went to voicemail and that uneasy feeling turned into a knot. Something was up. It was 11am. There were still signs of breakfast lingering in the kitchen sink, and the place had gotten a little cluttered again in her absence. She shuddered to recall the mess it had been when she'd first arrived all those months ago.

It might be nothing, but... she walked over to LaSalle's desk. There was a partially constructed plastic block sculpture and a plethora of random lego spread across the desktop, strewn over, under and in piles of paperwork. A glance over at Agent Pride's space informed her his neatness level was no higher. _Men_. Well, at least these two...

Brody pawed through the items on LaSalle's desk with extreme caution. Firstly, because she was aware of the invasion into his space that it was, especially when maybe he and Pride had just gone out for an early lunch. And secondly, because she feared what might lay hidden amongst the debris... a molding half eaten sandwich, maybe. Or a rat feasting upon such an offering.

Just some old personnel files, potentially relevant to a current case, or just something the agent had never bothered to properly file away. For all of his multitasking abilities, LaSalle was poor at organization... at least any sensical organization. Brody had to admit that maybe it did make sense in his own brain.

She started with an outcry on her lips, pulling her hand hastily away.

Ew! Ew! Ew! Why were men so _disgusting?_! Her fingers had come in contact with something... _soggy_...

She warily lifted the corner of the last file she'd glanced at, and reassured herself it was merely the a remaining bite of a jelly donut, oozing its contents onto the desktop, rather than something even more disturbing.

Brody decided to move on to Pride's desk, which was only marginally better, not so filthy, but just as disorganized. Nothing significant stood out. No file left open, half-perused, no scribbled notes on the legal pad. It was hard to say if they might have pulled a case that had them rush out the door that morning, perhaps that lead them to a place with no cell service. Not entirely improbable, considering vast portions of the bayou obviously boasted no cell towers.

But there was someone who might have some intel on the whereabouts of her two missing boys.

Brody called the coroner's office. When she was finally connected through to Dr. Wade, the medical examiner informed her that the last she'd seen of the two missing agents, they'd been standing in on her preliminary examination of the recently discovered corpse of Coporal Richard Waller.

/They got a call and rushed right on outta here./

"Do you know what the call was about?" Brody asked. It could've just as easily been entirely unrelated to the case, but her gut told her to go with the only lead she had. And she'd spent enough time with Agent Jethro Gibbs, and now Agent Dwayne Pride, to know to trust her instincts.

/Not specifically, no, Agent Brody. But Pride did say they'd caught a lead, before he and LaSalle went runnin' off./

"And I don't suppose they let you in on any specifics of said lead?"

/You know you agents.../

Brody sighed. She needed to train her boys to play better with others. Oh, they were all smiles and southern charm, but they played their cards close to their vests. And now if they'd gotten into some sort of trouble, it might just cost them severely.

"Alright, Dr. Wade. Can you send me your final report? Maybe that will provide a clue to where Pride and LaSalle have run off to. I'll let you know-"

/Wait a minute, dear. Sebastian just rushed in here and is jumpin' up and down like a kid in a candy shop./

Brody heard the medical examiner attempt to calm the overenthusiastic forensics geek in distant, partially muffled tones, and then there was a change in the sound quality, sounds coming through sharper and tinnier.

And then Loretta Wade's dulcet tones returned.

/Now, Sebastian, tell Agent Brody what's got you all worked up./

Sebastian's much more agitated voice began to clip out the information he had to impart at a rapid pace.

/The substance found on Waller's clothing was, just as suspected -although I don't know where Agent Pride found the data on which to base his initial surmise-/

"Sebastian, please!" Brody didn't feel guilty for snapping at the rambling man over the phone. Normally, she'd try to be more diplomatic, but there was that uneasy feeling twisting her gut, making her feel like she was under the wire. "In simple terms, what have you found? And what does it have to do with whatever case Pride and LaSalle are working?"

/Gold, Agent Brody!/

"Gold?"

/Well, actually the traces of gold dust were negligible, but combined with the presence of a cyanide solution and zinc on the deceased's clothing…/

"English, Sebastian."

/The corporal was likely involved in the process of melting down gold, specifically gold with impurities./

_Gold? _What the hell? Were they in some sort of Indiana Jones movie?

"And you told Pride this?" she asked, trying to confirm the specifics of what her fellow agents knew, what they had to go on, before they disappeared.

/He made me make any educated guess, yes./

"And then they left in a hurry?"

/Well, he received a phone call first./

"Is that all you guys got?"

/Unfortunately, yes./ Loretta joined the conversation once more. /I wish we could shed some more light on the case for you, Agent Brody. But we honestly don't know where the evidence may have taken Agents Pride and LaSalle./

"It's a start, Loretta," Brody said, noting the concern in the older woman's tone, one that hinted Dr. Wade likely also had an uneasy feeling in her gut. "Thanks, guys."

/Let us know when you hear anything./

"Will do."

Brody ended the call. The clues had to be here, in the office. Her boys had no more information than she did right now, and yet they had gone off (knowing them, half-cocked) and apparently had gotten themselves into some sort of trouble...

_Or she was just freaking out for no good reason. _

She tried calling both of their cell phones again, but was directed to voicemail for each.

_Or not..._

* * *

**A/N: Well, at least Brody's aware there's trouble… Now can she figure out where the boys are, and save their butts?**


	3. 11:30am

**Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I debated where I wanted to divide up chapters/the timing of the plot development for this… (Also distracted with rewatching episodes and yes, writing LaSalle/Brody smut). But on with the action-based fic…**

* * *

Brody allowed herself to chew her left index fingernail for half a minute, fidgeting off the sort of distress that would only lead to unproductive panic. Which was silly, right?

Except that bad feeling.

What harm would there be in figuring out where the absent agents had gone, anyway? Whether or not her instincts were correct in their unease, it wasn't like she had any other pressing matters to attend to, not that she knew of, at least.

So, there was a body. And a case. There had to be a file. She went to Pride's desk first, went through the paperwork once more, with more of an idea of what should stand out. Corporal Waller, or anything related to his name, rank, division, or... _gold_? It proved a fruitless search, which made her feel stupid, like she were running around in circles without a clue, as she returned again to LaSalle's unkempt desk.

The files she'd thought merely old ones that he'd neglected to put away proved otherwise when examined under a whole new set of criteria. For the top folder contained the military record of one Corporal Richard Waller, reported MIA in Iraq in 2005, apparently along with a few other members of his unit. She eagerly perused the report, pacing as she did so.

How had a man gone missing in a war zone to show up recently deceased in the NO morgue? The marine corps thought him dead, and after ten years it should've been a solid conclusion. But he'd been alive up until a couple days ago. Just seriously AWOL... Desertion. But what would make a marine with such an otherwise spotless record do such a thing?

According to the file, he and his men had been following up on several leads, tips from locals about stashes of looted treasures from the time of the invasion, the siege on the Iraqi Museum in 2003. Could it be the gold link in all of this? But why wait so long to sell it off? To resurface in the US?

Then again, maybe he just hadn't been caught before now. Well, technically Waller had never been caught, not by the authorities anyway, not alive.

But it was all speculation that got her no closer to figuring out where her missing boys went. She needed to find a way to retrace Pride and LaSalle's steps...

Putting the file down, Brody dug out the keyboard from beneath a mix of files, legos and chip crumbs (of an apparently nacho variety, judging by the orange dust) and woke up LaSalle's computer. He'd unfortunately logged off. Well, it was protocol, so she couldn't really fault him for that. The agent may be sloppy in some ways (such as keeping a neat desk), but he was squared away in all the ways that mattered. Which in this particular case, was not helpful to her.

Although... She smiled broadly to herself, clicked on the field for entering the password, and typed in 'BigAl2003'. When it gave her an 'incorrect login-password combination error' she wasn't discouraged. She tried two more variations on her original guess, and then the system began to load.

The system might not be very hackable, but LaSalle was.

The last search he ran was on a Ferragus Dubeau, a known blackmarket merchant based here in New Orleans. Okay, so the two agents obviously had some other information, that had led them to believe the middleman was the killer? Or just might know what sort of shady deals were going down in the city.

Perhaps she should pay Mr. Dubeau a visit...

* * *

Apparently, Ferragus Dubeau did not _like _visitors.

"Don't do it," Merri said, as the surprisingly scrawny, slightly weasel-like man eyed the open door behind him. There was an obstacle course of 'antiques' between him and the exit, but by this point in her career, she could sense when someone was about to pull a runner. And she wasn't especially in the mood to chase his ass down, and was a little more inclined than usual to just shoot him, despite her desire for some fricken answers as to what the hell was going on. "I just want-"

He ran.

Unsurprisingly, his quick, twitchy movements were also quite weasel-like as he dashed out of the antiquities shop, hopping over a couple shabby trunks, and skirting around a dingy wing-backed chair, emerging into the back alley. Swearing under her breath, Meredith Brody gave chase, feeling like she were back in her probie training days, running that damned course _affectionately _dubbed The Gauntlet. Normally, she'd have a partner standing back up, covering the back entrance, waiting with a fist or perhaps some sort of blunt instrument to clothesline the sucker as he rounded a corner.

But it was just her on this one. So she pushed herself hard, glad she kept up with her running, made sure her legs were strong enough to chase down such skittish suspects.

God, but Dubeau was fast, too.

Dammit. He was the only lead she had.

Her chest was heaving for air, her muscles burning as she forced them to their limits and the lactic acid built up in her straining tissues. But she was gaining on him. In fact, after slowing to turn the corner at the next side alley, she was only a few yards behind him.

Six feet.

He was flagging. She wasn't.

Three feet.

No holds barred, she tackled him without hesitation, plowing herself into his middle, throwing off his center of gravity, their combined momentum sending them crashing into the pavement. Her victim groaned loudly, painfully, but she fought down her own urge to vocalize her displeasure at finding herself tumbled to the ground, bruising her elbow, and oh, look at that...

She hastily flipped Dubeau onto his stomach upon the rather filthy and cracked asphalt, forcing his arms up to cuff his wrists behind his back. Then she took a moment to catch her breath, still literally sitting on her prisoner.

...She'd torn the elbow of her favorite grey blazer. She rather like that jacket, too. Glancing around, she discovered that the patchy asphalt overlaying exposed cobblestone pavement, uneven, rough edged, and coated with grime, was likely responsible.

"Why'd you make me do that, Mr. Dubeau?" She asked, letting her ire show a little in her voice. She noted the garbage can lying on its side with its contents disgorged in an avalanche of rot not four feet to their left. "Now we're both likely to contract some sort of nasty disease rolling around in this filth."

Having caught her breath slightly, she hauled herself then her prisoner to their feet, and walked him back to the vehicle. And although she couldn't help feeling that every minute Pride and LaSalle were out of contact only made the situation more pressing, Brody decided to carry out her questioning of the blackmarket merchant in the interrogation room back at the office, where she could really have at him, scare him into singing like a canary, without the distractions of a noisy, busy street, or letting him remain in his own comfort zone, in that nest of dust and junk (which probably had untold hidden caches of stolen valuables… a search would probably be in order later, when they recovered their full manpower).

Also, they had iodine in the extensive medical cabinet back at HQ, and she planned on pouring a liberal amount over the bleeding patch of skin on her elbow. Sister Jones, a wrinkled old battleaxe of the WWII vintage who served as nurse at her first boarding school swore by iodine. _The burnin' means it's workin'_. Somehow, the notion had stuck in Brody's brain, and it was still her go-to for first aid situations. In fact, if she didn't watch it, she'd be pouring the stuff over bullet wounds... definitely not advisable. Nor medically sound.

Maybe she could threaten Dubeau with the stuff. He had a pretty good gash on his head, that for the sake of regulations she was currently pretending not to notice. What cut? Who needed professional medical attention? Certainly not the only lead on the whereabouts of her missing agents...

Off to interrogation we go.

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**A/N: I had meant for this chapter to be longer originally, hence the delay, but decided the narrative required a different layout/tact.**


	4. 12:00pm

**Author's Note: Sorry, it's just a short one. But the Pride and LaSalle interludes are going to be that way…**

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"Well what d'ya got, Christopher?" Pride asked, his voice still raised over the din of a well-worn pump system and streaming water. They'd split up, each covering half of the ballast tank, examining the metal bulkheads for anything offering alternative escape. It had taken nearly an hour... the water level was now knee-high. It was difficult to move with even a slower-than-normal gait, and exhausting, too. If like himself, LaSalle had ended up empty-handed, then they had only expended valuable energy, energy they might soon need to keep their heads above water.

"Well, as far as I can see," the younger agent said. "There's only one spot that might do us some good. Looks like it rusted out an's been patched."

"Show me."

Pride followed his junior agent, wading through the somewhat cold water. Any colder and then there would be other things to worry about than simply drowning. LaSalle stopped, about thirty feet beyond the ladder, shining his light on the outer bulkhead at what was obviously a recent weld. About four inches of it was visible above the water line, and the rough edge like a scar on the bulkhead only ran along for about a foot and a half. If they could compromise it, would it really provide a means of escape?

"Think if we bash that weld out, we'll be able to squeeze through there?"

LaSalle gave a noncommittal look, before glancing down at his wet pant legs, now submerged past his knees and frowning.

"The question is, where d' ya think it leads, King?"

"Not sure, but outta this sardine can, has gotta be a step in the right direction."

If the ballast tank had a double bulkhead, puncturing a hole would at least give the water another space to fill and slow the rate at which the water was rising, even if they couldn't find a way out. It was on the interior side of the ballast tank, not on the outer shell, so they shouldn't accidentally drown themselves... drown faster, anyway.

"Wanna use them gold bricks?" LaSalle asked, bending over to examine the weld more closely. "We're not gonna get 'nough force swingin' through the water. We'll hafta try loosin it up along here."

"Which means we only have about fifteen minutes before the entire patch is submerged."

Pride schlepped back to the ladder, reaching down into the increasing depths of cool, dirty harbor water where they'd stashed the case of the stolen treasure, soaking his arm up to the shoulder. When he returned to his junior agent's side, he handed him a gold brick, which although malleable, should be hefty enough to bash away at the steel weld.

Soon the cacophony of rushing water and stuttering machinery was joined by the clanging of their blows hammering away at their only means of escape.

And all the while, the water level rose…


	5. 2:00pm

**Author's Note: Sorry about the delay with this one. I get distracted by the shippy fics. :-) **

**Warning: Some Coarse Language.**

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Gotchya!

Brody quickly thanked Patton Plame for coming in on the very short notice she'd given him in order to help her track her missing boys' digital trail, and strode, practically ran, towards the interrogation room and the suspect she left stewing in silence there.

Ferragus Dubeau looked up at her, his dark eyes showing alarm at her appearance. Good. She hoped it was because she looked intimidating. Or because her triumph was apparent on her face. She opened the file Patton had given her, took out the top photo, and slammed it on the table in front of her only lead as to the whereabouts of Agents Pride and LaSalle. The weasely 'shop owner' started, his uncomfortable metal chair scraping noisily against the cement floor.

"Tell me again how you've never seen either of these two men."

During round one of questioning, she'd showed him photos of Pride and LaSalle, whom he denied ever having laid eyes upon, let alone being visited by the pair of agents earlier that morning. The photo she'd placed in front of him this time had been pulled by Patton Plame from a youtube video of an improv street dance session that occurred just outside Dubeau's shop. The tech wizard was good. While slightly blurry, since they were in the background, it was still undeniably the two missing agents and the man currently looking like a frightened ferret. "What did you talk about?"

Dubeau's cheek twitched right below his left eye, and she could tell he was closer to cracking, yet he still held his tongue. So Brody pulled the next sheet from the file folder and placed it next to the photo.

"We've got you on about three dozen counts of trafficking stolen goods," she said, indicating the series of user and bank accounts that linked the black market dealer sitting in front of her to underground websites that traded in illegal goods ranging from firearms to stolen artwork to looted artifacts. "You're going away for a long time."

Dubeau sighed. "What's the deal you offering?"

"No deal," she said. "But maybe I put in a good word with the DA's office ... if you tell me where my missing agents are."

"Not good 'nough, sweetheart," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "That's all circumstantial evidence. It won't stick."

He was right, but he didn't need to know that. Brody stared him down. The confidence in his demeanor wasn't total. He was nervous, because he did know something, but whatever it was it was somehow still worth it to him to keep his mouth shut. Which meant it wasn't good. If Pride and LaSalle had simply shown up, asked the man a few questions and left, then he would've been able to say just that and get her off his back. But he wasn't talking at all. Because he was more afraid of someone else than he was of her threats of criminal prosecution?

She walked around the table, behind the man, gently pushed the already unbalanced chair leg and caused the man to fall backward, hitting the cement floor with a loud _crack_ of metal and _thunk_ of skull. She crouched down beside the groaning man, and shouted in his face.

"Where are they?!"

"Goddamnit, bitch," he muttered. "What the hell was that?"

"That was just an accident. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to lean back in your chair like that?" She stared him straight in the eye, to make sure he knew she was serious. "What happens next _won't_ be an accident."

Dubeau swallowed, and she fought the smile of pleasure from showing on her face, for she could see it in his eyes that he'd finally snapped. She'd only had to make him more afraid of her than who he was protecting.

"Fine. I'll talk," he said, throwing his hands up. "Just back off with the crazy cop act."

"Let me help you up." Maybe her tone was a little too artificially sweet, her grin too wolfish.

"No. I got it," he said, hastily scrambling onto his hands and knees and pushing himself to his feet. Brody grabbed the chair placed it in front of the table once more, indicating he should resume his seat. His eyes never left her as she walked around, grabbed the other chair from the corner of the room and then sat down across from him, like he were a small furry animal and she was a wildcat on the prowl, like she might pounce again at any moment, play with her prey a little more.

"Talk," she said.

"They come to harass me about some dead marine and missing Iraqi gold," Dubeau said.

"And...?" She reached for the file, and pulled it in front of her, the quick movement of her hand making the man flinch. It was probably wrong, but she got a hell of a lot of joy from breaking a suspect like this.

"And I tole them I didn't know nothin' and sent them on their way."

Bullshit. If that was all, he would've told her that earlier. She stared at him for half a minute, cold and steady, watching the beads of sweat pop out on the dark skin of his large forehead.

"That's not all you did, though, was it, Mr. Dubeau?"

He shook his head.

"You'd better tell me everything now," she said, leaning forward slightly. "Because if I found out you withheld something..."

"I called the buyers," he said. "Johnson -_Waller, whatever his name was_\- I didn't know he was a missing marine, an' I didn't know he was dead until your people showed up. An' I didn't know it was looted Iraqi gold. I only knew he was lookin' to sell and there were people lookin' to buy. I wasn't even the middleman, really. I just made an introduction."

"Who are the buyers? And what did you ask them to do about the NCIS agents looking into the case?"

"I didn't ask them to do nothin'..." He shifted his weight in his seat, an obvious sign of guilt. He may not have specifically asked for something bad to happen to Pride and LaSalle, but Dubeau sure as hell knew what the consequences of making that call would be.

"Names," she said, trying to ignore that knot of unease that had been quelled by her small victory but was now transforming into one of dread, and growing by the minute.

"The Conley brothers." Since he'd already started talking, Dubeau no longer seemed concerned about keeping his trap shut, likely because he'd just implicated himself in commissioning a violent act against federal agents. Not to mention the dead former marine. "They're part of some dumb cracker militia group. Stockpiling gold for the apocalypse or whatever. If it's too hot for other people, them's the ones I call. Crazy fuckers, them."

Shit. Did she really have to deal with some psychotic hicks? God, all she might find of her boys were the pieces the gators didn't want. She suddenly felt sick, wordlessly stood and left the interrogation room.

* * *

**A/N: Major kick ass time coming up soon, I promise. But first, we might want to check back in with our boys…**


	6. 2:30pm

**Author's Note: Another LaSalle and Pride interlude…**

* * *

Well, Chris LaSalle couldn't think of many worse situations than this one. But in all of his years being a nosy cop, chasing down bad guys, not to mention his slightly miscreant youth, one would think he could easily list half a dozen scenarios to rival the one currently topping his list of 'things I'd happily die without experiencing'. Because from the way things looked at the moment, he'd be unhappily dying from experiencing this thing.

Nope. Drowning would have to be way down on his list of 'Ways to die that don't suck'.

"Sorry, King," he said, his teeth chattering now that he was completely submerged in the cool water. It wasn't freezing by any means, but anything below room temperature began sapping away body heat in no time... and it had been several hours now.

"What you apologizing' for, son?" the older agent asked, still having to raise his voice over the din, even though their faces weren't even a foot apart as they each clung to one side of the metal ladder.

"If I hadn't been all gung ho to find some loot like a pirate, mebbe I woulda had the smarts to stand guard instead of gettin' us both locked up in here."

"Well, considerin' you were followin' my orders, and the thought didn't occur to me, I think I can let you off the hook this time, Christopher."

They grinned half-heartedly at one another, both obviously drained too much to laugh. They didn't mention the fact that the two suspects (which they assumed were the ones who locked them in, even though the dock manager had said they hadn't reported in for work that morning) might have been able to overpower Chris, anyway, killing him outright, or tossing him through the ballast tank hatch to a very unpleasant landing... he'd be dead right now, in that scenario.

"Too bad that hole didn't lead nowhere." Chris tried to find some topic of conversation. They'd sort of run out of small talk, and most of it seemed ridiculous, talking about the weather or vacation plans... like either would matter if they didn't find a way out, and soon. Talking about things they might never get the chance to do was depressing. But the silence was, by far, worse. Well, silence but for the loud rushing of water and the interminable churning of the pumps.

"It was worth the try, though," Pride said.

"Yeah," Chris said. His fingers and toes were going numb, which was disconcerting, considering all that what was really preventing him from drowning at this point was that he was standing on a rung of the ladder that was bolted into the bulkhead, and clinging to the metal to keeping his head above water. There was only about a foot of ladder left above the waterline, and above that only a couple feet or so before the top of the ballast tank... and their deaths. They really only had one hope. "Ya think Brody's gotten back from D.C. yet?"

"Oh, definitely," Pride said with false, but surprisingly convincing assuredness. "She's probably searching this ship as we speak."

"Knowin' her... single-handedly, and with an efficiency that's puttin' all the crew to shame." Chris played along, picturing his tough, and organized, fellow agent systematically tearing the large cargo vessel apart. It was actually quite a comforting thought. Only...

"Pro'ly shoulda left her a note or somethin', though, huh?"

"Nah." Pride somehow exuded confidence even though they were both only about an hour away from breathing in water. "Interpretin' either of our handwritin' would've taken her longer than figurin' it out on her own. Just would've slowed her down."

Funnily enough (or maybe he was beyond the point of exhaustion), that logic made sense to Chris. He could believe Meredith Brody had easily reconstructed the case and was on her way to save their asses that very moment.

Okay, in a few minutes… maybe...?

Okay, a few more...

* * *

**A/N: Poor boys. They really need Brody to come to their rescue, don't they?**


	7. 3:00pm

**Author's Note: Finally continuing this one…**

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_Bad plan. Bad plan. Bad plan. Bad plan..._

The reasonable, rational part of Merri Brody repeated the words on a loop in her brain. But rather than working up her nerves, it sort of calmed her, like a mantra, in sync with her footsteps on the steel catwalk as she traversed the guts of the giant cargo vessel. The ocean-goers were significantly larger than the vessels used in the Great Lakes, but Merri had been on cargo ships before. It was a little eerie, hearing all of the bustling activity echoing through the space, but only encountering a crew member every now and then. Most of the work was being done topside and on the docks as the ship was efficiently unloaded of the large metal containers.

The dock manager had confirmed that the Conley brothers had been working as hands for several months but hadn't shown up for their shift that morning. At least, they hadn't clocked in. Brody was pretty certain they'd been there. And so had her missing agents...

She passed another two crew men, burly, just the sort you'd expect to find in the bowels of a great steel titan. Checking their faces and confirming that they weren't her suspects, she identified herself as a federal agent, inquired whether they'd seen either of the Conleys or the other federal agents. They had seen Pride and LaSalle, but just briefly in passing, asking about the Conley brothers, the same response she got from the handful of crew that had seen the pair of agents.

Okay, okay. She was a couple of crazy backwoods yokels smuggling gold around with a former marine… What would her next move be? They'd had a good system going. Waller stashed the gold somewhere on the cargo vessel in whatever foreign port, the brothers recovered it when it came into town. Maybe he'd finally come to collect the money owed him, or to get front for the next batch of gold, they'd gotten into an argument, they killed the former corporal. Pride and LaSalle came looking for them, and then what?

If the Conleys hadn't been there, or hiding (and doing it well), where would the agents have gone? They would still have tried to suss out the gold stash, wouldn't they? The bowels of the ship were probably a better option. The smugglers would have had less control of cargo containers as the vessel was unloaded and reloaded at various ports, and then shipped off. And in order to be getting away with what was basically laundering, they'd have to have been trading in small amounts of gold, still highly valuable, but the heavy stuff could be easily stashed if it was just a briefcase... okay, probably not a briefcase, considering it would've stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the grease-stained machinery.

Honestly, though, she could care less about finding the looted gold. All Brody wanted was to know her fellow agents, her _friends _were safe and sound. And so she continued on through the bowels of the ship, her footfalls adding an additional metallic ring to the symphony of activity overhead. Really, she should've called for back-up, strong-armed the dock manager into shutting down operations and directed a full sweep of the vessel... Only, her damned pride got in the way. What if she was wrong? Her connections in the region were nascent, newly formed and weak, liable to snap if she burdened them with such favors. Because she honestly had no hard evidence, just a loosely related string of connections and her gut. It was stupid and selfish of her, she realized now. And the mantra resumed in her head.

_Bad plan. Bad plan. Bad plan. Bad plan..._

Another grease-stained, burly crew mem- _oh, shit._

"Ben Conley?" The man turned towards her, the lank hair that had been mostly obscuring his face falling away to reveal one of her suspects. "Federal Agent. Stay where you are. Put your hands on your head."

The dumb hick bolted.

Her trigger finger itched, but she resisted it. That would be the easy way out, and it wouldn't get her any answers about the whereabouts of Pride and LaSalle. True, she could hit him in the leg, and it might come down to that, but there were always risks when taking a suspect down with gunfire, and she couldn't risk her boys on it. So instead, she hastily holstered her Glock, and sprinted after the fleeing man. He may have known the ship better, but she was faster. Also, knowledge didn't help him when there was nowhere to go but down the long catwalk, the federal agent on his tail gaining with every step.

Ben Conley was about five inches taller than her, and she'd only practiced the maneuver on LaSalle who'd been trading her some 'good ol' street fightin' moves' in return for some of her favorite aikido attacks and defenses, but to hell with it. She was so close that if she reached out her fingers, the tips would brush against the stained flannel shirt on the man's back, so she pushed herself with a little extra burst of energy, jumped up and hooked her right arm around the man's neck, allowing her full weight to hang off from his back as he thrashed in response, trying to throw her off from him. He leaned forward and she held firm with her right arm, used her left fist to punch him in the kidney several times, and he became frantic, ramming her into the railing behind them, which successfully loosened her hold when the wind was knocked from her. He staggered forward, free of her, but rather than try to run again Conley whirled on her, apparently extremely pissed off, if the snot and spittle he was sputtering was any indication.

"Gov'ment whore," he spat at her.

_Oh, no he didn't._

Since she already was hanging on to the steel railing for support... Brody used it as leverage and jump-kicked the man, placing both of her pointed boot heels in his chest, and she didn't even have to sacrifice her own verticality to see him crash to ground. And then she was on him, rolling him onto his stomach, jamming a knee into his back and yanking his arms around to cuff them behind him, shouting in his ear over the din of the machinery that was now being used to empty the great hold of the ship.

"Where are they?!"

Ben Conley made some incoherent sputtering into the metal grating beneath his face, and her feeling of dread increased tenfold for no apparent reason. Perhaps because she was so close. At least, she had to be. He had to know where the missing men were. It was the only conclusion that made sense. She flipped the tall but somewhat scrawny man over, placed the toe of one of her boots on his throat, the sharper point of the heel pressing into his carotid a little, not enough to make him blackout or unable to answer her, but hopefully enough to scare him into talking.

"Agents Pride and LaSalle. Came here looking for you earlier today. _Where_ are they?"

"Feds are like rats." He glared at her through red-rimmed eyes, the snot and spittle she'd squeezed from him earlier oozing into the scraggly facial hair he probably fancied was a badass beard. Disgusting. "Always scurryin' 'round in the dark. Spreadin' their disease an'-"

She pressed down a little harder, cutting off his words and air, counting slowly to ten before allowing him to gasp and choke.

"Where are-

She heard the loud clanging of footfalls as they accelerated, turned in time to see the other Conley brother not two feet from her. It must have been all the racket of the cranes and the shipping containers being raised from the hold, bumping and banging against the side. Or she'd been too focused on getting the truth out of Ben to notice his brother, Earl, sneaking up on her in a none-too-stealthy-manner, because she suddenly found herself tackled to the rough metal grating.

Perhaps, it was time to use her Glock. Only, they were already in too close quarters for her to successfully draw the weapon, as she fended off several blows aimed for her face. The man was grunting and snarling, spittle spattering her face and clothes.

And Agent Meredith Brody had had just about enough. It was time to put the rabid dog down. She kneed him with as much force as she could muster, directly in the balls. The man made a pathetic whimpering sound as he clutched himself and instinctively fell forward, causing her to raise her legs up reflexively to prevent the large, disgusting man from falling on top of her. A quick thrust of her legs and she'd successfully thrown the man off, sending him stumbling and crashing backward, crushing his cuffed brother instead, who hadn't anywhere to go as he tried to roll out of the way. Brody pounced on the fallen man, using a zip-tie to restrain his hands as she'd done with the Ben.

They proved to be quite uncooperative when questioned. Not even a black eye and a broken nose encouraged them. She knew she shouldn't have lost her temper like that, but damn it, Pride and LaSalle were the only ones who'd given a shit about her in, well, years. There'd been people in her life that said they loved her, but when push came to shove, they weren't anywhere to be found. Agents Pride and LaSalle, Dr. Wade, even Sebastian... they weren't just talk. They backed up all of their words with unwavering loyalty and compassion. Brody couldn't lose them. She just couldn't.

The Conleys were going on again about feds being an infestation, and the best way to get rid of rats, laughing all the while, like they were so smart, like they were rubbing it in her face but she was too dumb to see, to understand what they were talking about, talking about killing rats... _drowning_ them. Oh, god. Had they thrown the agents overboard, weighted down somehow, to sink to the bottom of the harbor?

No.

No, they couldn't have done that. People would've seen that sort of production. Pride and LaSalle would've struggled if conscious, would've been a handful if knocked-out, even for the burly brothers.

She closed her eyes, thought about everything she'd learned during that joint Homeland taskforce search of a cargo vessel in Port Huron. A place to drown two men, where they wouldn't be seen, heard, found for sometime. The noise of the unloading would be enough to cover a lot of cries for help. The cranes, the containers clanging, the pumps running... oh, shit.

Ballast.

Weight was being systematically, efficiently removed from the hold of the vessel, taking away its ballast. It had to be compensated to keep the ship stable. The pumps were running steadily, drawing water out of the harbor and filling the previously empty tanks. How long to fill them on a cargo vessel this size? When had they started? She could run, find the captain, or the dock master or the foreman in charge of unloading the cargo, tell them of her suspicion, convince them to shut off the pumps and then check the tanks. But then they might need to run it by a superior, get approval. She knew how that sort of shit went, how long it could take..

There might not be time.

It might already be too late.

Brody double-checked the plastic cuffs she'd used to secure the Conley brothers to the metal railing, giving the scrawny one a back hand when he tried to trip her, before she ran off, shouting for help. It seemed to take an eternity to find a crewman, a genuinely nice sort of fellow with a neatly trimmed beard, and explain in what she struggled to make a rational tone. And if it took an eternity to enlist his help, otherwise known as the ten seconds required for her to flash her badge and lay out the situation, then it took a complete cycle of the universe expanding and contracting and expanding again for them to reach the access point for the now quite flooded ballast tank.

It was obvious that foul play was at work by the length of lead pipe wedged in the wheel on the maintenance hatch. At least she'd found the merchant seaman's equivalent to Paul Bunyan, who heaved on the heavy metal rod for several seconds but managed to pull it loose.

Brody's heart was pounding loudly in her ears, fear twisting her stomach into a painful knot, as every horrible thought about what lay on the other side of the bulkhead flooded her mind in vivid detail.

_Please. Please. Please. _The wheel creaked with every crank, until finally her helpful new friend pulled the hatch open and she rushed to the edge to look in.

_Oh._

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**A/N: One chapter left…**


	8. 7:00pm

**Author's Note: I don't blame any of you for losing interest in this one. It only took me **_**forever**_** to actually focus and write it!**

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Two pale faces with blue-tinged lips stared up at Merri out of the dark.

"Brody!" LaSalle's disturbingly pallid face broke into a Cheshire grin.

"You're certainly, a sight for sore eyes," Pride said, smiling up at her as well.

Brody couldn't help but grin back at her boys... her blessedly _alive _boys. Thank god! It looked like it was a close call. They were clinging to what appeared to be the metal rungs of an access ladder bolted into the side of the bulkhead, and the dark water was lapping at their chins.

"I hate to interrupt what looks to be quite the refreshing swim and all, but we've got some bad guys to nail," she said, unable to resist teasing the agents as she was flooded with relief.

"Christopher." Pride invited the younger agent to climb out first with a wave of his hand.

"Age before beauty, King," LaSalle said, making his friend sigh in exasperation. Brody didn't especially envy Agent Pride, and not just for the nearly-drowning part. He must be more immune to the way LaSalle's charm could begin to grate on a person's nerves after a while. He had spent nearly every day with the guy for the past ten years. Brody herself didn't mind him, rather liked the Boy from 'Bama in the normal daily doses she got, but she _had_ spent several stake-outs cooped up in a vehicle with the man, and it wasn't her favorite part of the job so far. It's not that Chris LaSalle talked incessantly or anything. He just insisted on conversing a little more than she would prefer. Brody liked a good amount of contemplative silence on her stakeouts.

She grabbed Pride's arm as he reached the open hatch, and following her lead, her merchant marine friend took the other and they helped the water-logged agent out of the nearly-filled ballast tank. LaSalle's head poked up next and they assisted the other agent who -she hated to admit the Conley's were right- looked quite a bit like a drowned rat.

"I hope you two learned your lesson not to run off and play Indiana Jones..." Brody felt like an irate -yet secretly amused- mother scolding her errant boys as the two men stood in front of her, dripping on the floor, shivering and studying their drenched boots. "...Especially without leaving your fellow agent a note or some sort of message about what the hell you're doing!"

LaSalle continued to stare at the floor, but Pride seemed to remember that he was in fact the agent in charge of this little unit, and pulled himself up to his full height and usual commanding bearing.

"Have you called NOPD for backup?" he asked.

Now it was Merri's turn to feel properly admonished, but she was pretty certain she kept the embarrassed blush from her cheeks. Pride frowned, however, in obvious disappointment. But she knew it wasn't disappointment in her, but rather over the fact that she still didn't feel comfortable enough in the city yet to call upon her fellow LEOs for assistance. But he merely pressed on. That was something she'd learned about Pride. He wasn't one to cry over spilt milk, or tolerate wallowing in others. The only way to fix the mistakes of the past was to do whatever you could to make up for them in the present.

"We need an officer or two to sit on the ballast tank until it's emptied again to retrieve the evidence we left down there," he said, back in full command mode despite the involuntary trembling of his soaked body. "And a full sweep of the ship needs to be done, in case the Conley brothers are still here."

"Oh, they're still here," Brody said. Both LaSalle and Pride gave her curious looks.

She smiled a devious, self-satisfied grin, like the cat that got the canary.

.

"Good work, today, Brody."

"Thanks," she said, smiling down at the senior agent as she handed him a steaming mug of herbal tea. Caffeine was the last thing that either of the physically exhausted agents needed. They needed to sleep, which would be difficult if they were pumped full of stimulants and still chilled to the bone. So hot liquids, peppermint tea specifically, it was.

"No cocoa?" LaSalle whined after taking a sip of his own mug of tea and wincing, making a face she'd expect from someone who had just drunk horse piss. Merri glared at the younger agent.

"No sugar. No caffeine. You two need to take it easy, get a full night's rest." After the agents had been checked out by the EMTs, showered and changed into dry clothes, she'd quit filling out the paperwork and returned to feeling like a nursemaid, seeing to her sickly boys. Even though they had brought it upon themselves.

"Yes, ma'am," Pride said, groaning lightly when he struggled off the sofa onto his feet before heading towards the kitchen.

"And where do you think you're going?" Merri really couldn't help it. She was in full Mother Hen mode, and discovering it was really hard to dial back the controlling aspect of her nature once it was unleashed.

"Followin' orders," Pride said. "Goin' to bed, which I'm fortunate enough to have just upstairs."

He paused, giving her an amused half-smile. "If that's alright with Nurse?"

Merri felt her cheeks flush. Too far. She had definitely gone too far. But goddamnit, she had almost lost the two men who were the closest friends she'd had in years, who openly claimed her as family to them. She simply nodded sheepishly.

"But seriously, I really don't know how, we managed before you got here, Agent Brody. You saved our skins. And you been takin' good care of us."

He winked as she stood there, a little shocked and a lot pleased, before he disappeared, leaving the younger agent to withstand the wrath of her fussing alone.

"King's right," LaSalle said, as she sat down on the sofa beside him. "I think it was jus' plain ol' dumb luck that we survived long enough ta meet ya, and steal ya for our own li'l fam'ly."

He raised his steaming mug of tea. "So, thanks, Meredith Brody. For savin' our asses."

"If anything, I should be thanking you and Pride, for saving me."

LaSalle nodded his head, accepting the somewhat rare emotional display of vulnerability from her.

"Cheers," he said.

She clinked her own steaming mug of tea to his.

"Cheers."

END

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**A/N: There may be an epilogue of an alternative (shippy) nature… to be posted separately.**


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